Authors: Amelia Grace
‘I can’t...I’m sorry.’ I said with a gentle tone. She took a small step back from me, and then removed the satchel from over my shoulders, and placed it on the chair without taking her eyes off me. She placed both hands on my chest, and then slid them up over my shoulders and around my neck and hugged me tightly, pressing her body into mine.
I exhaled, feeling my body respond
to her physical assertiveness, and wrapped my arms around her. She placed a tender kiss below my right ear. I lowered my head slightly, scrambling to regain my composure before I gave into my desires.
I reached up to her arms and peeled them off
from me.
‘I can’t Catherine – not here, not now....You are still my boss. I may return here someday.’
‘One day you will regret that you had refused me Cohen – remember that!’ she whispered into my ear, before kissing me lightly again, and then stepped away. In an instant she had become cold and business like – detached.
“Collect your belongings Mr Darcy
. Talk to no-one and leave by 12 o’clock, or you shall be escorted out by security – understood?’
‘Clearly,’ I stated, raising my eyebrows questioning her reaction. I grabbed my satchel of designs, and promptly left the office and bee
-lined for my desk, eyes burning into me as I walked past colleagues and friends.
I placed my satchel onto my worn chair, and placed my hands at the back of my head, closing my eyes in frustration.
That bloody book!
I found an empty cardboard box and placed all of my belongings into it
. Not much really, mostly drawing and designing implements. No photos, no decorations, no personal oddities. I grabbed my satchel, my cardboard box and turned around to the silent stares and saddened faces of my colleagues and friends. I nodded once at them all acknowledging them and saying goodbye, and then left, exiting the building along the long walkway.
Catherine stood outside her office, her face serious, sour.
‘Good day Mr Darcy,’ she spat out, her tone acidic. I looked at her and half smiled.
‘I assure you, I will never regret it Miss
White,’ I said, my tone even, controlled. I nodded slightly to her and walked out the door to a waiting taxi.
Chapter Three
The rain obliterated the skyline for the entire hour long journey to the new office space. I sprinted from the taxi to the revolving door, where I was then escorted up to the 27
th
floor of the communications giant.
Everything was white. Everything looked sterile. The information desk was occupied by a woman in white with white hair, her teeth scarily too white. I felt like I had been sanitized.
‘Mr Darcy, welcome to Communication Alliances Incorporated ,’ her voice squeaked. ‘Mr Rubin is waiting for you. You may enter now.’
I smiled and nodded at her, wondering about how her psychological health was affected from working in this
area of sensory depravity. Poor woman. She seemed to have been stripped of any personality. So cruel.
Mr
Rubin was sitting in his high back red leather chair when I entered his office, facing away from me.
‘Mr Darcy, good to see that you can follow orders. Now sit
.....please,’ His voice was deep and spellbinding as he turned in his chair to face me.
His voice did not match his physical attributes. He seemed to be a small framed man as he sat in his leather chair, but perhaps it appeared that way
because of the disproportional height of the seat.
His face was white and rounded, puffy even, topped off with a bald shiny scalp. He looked up at me with his small beady dark eyes.
‘It seems that you have something that we need. The drawing. Hand it over.’
Well, let’s get straight to the point shall we
? Smooth, real smooth…..
‘I don’t understand Sir. I have no knowledge or understanding of what you are talking about,’ I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
What did I have that was so important to the company?
‘M
r Darcy, our security data has shown that you have drawn a design that is of great significance to us. It has the potential to revolutionize communications. It is the eye piece that is implantable that we seek.’
My mind was in a
n electrostatic buzz.
Not the drawing of the eye implant that allows internal brain visualization and was a thought scanner mind device. It was imperfect. It wasn’t ready. It was also science fiction, meant for imaginative purposes only.
‘Sir.
The implant is not real. I was fooling around with my creative imagination to create a state of subliminal awareness to locate the missing piece of the seventh key to the seventh communication sense, as requested by the company,’ I explained, my mind in a panic.
‘That would be the one that we
seek Mr Darcy.’ He raised his left eyebrow, his face deadly serious. ‘Hand it over. It is the intellectual property of Communication Alliances Incorporated.’
His dark eyes pieced mine with threatening domination. I wanted to stand tall and deflect his aggression, but thought the better of it. It would be
smarter to play along at this stage, learn the rules of the game, and play it better than anyone else.
I opened my satchel, flicked through the drawings and designs and handed Mr Rubin the piece of work that he was asking for. Little did he know that the original was stored in a fireproof safe at my residence.
Play the game, play it better.
‘You will continue to work on it here until the technology is perfected Mr Darcy. That way we can be assured of maximum security.
You have no idea how your work will change the world Mr Darcy. You have become our most valuable employee. And we look after what we value. Tomorrow you start work at 9am, 28
th
floor. Do not be late. Your work records show your tardiness. Good day Mr Darcy.’
He picked up the design and turned his chair away from me. The epitome of rudeness. I burnt my eyes into the rear of his stupid red leather chair.
Mr Rubin, you have no idea what I am capable of.
The light touch of a hand on my arm alerted me to the pitiful white girl’s presence.
‘This way Sir,’ she squeaked. She indicated to the doorway of Mr Rubin’s office, and then led me to the elevator, which was waiting for me, the button pressed for the ground floor already. I stepped into it, and smiled at white girl as the doors closed. She didn’t bat an eyelid.
Challenge on.
Bloody book! It entered my mind as I exited through the ridiculous revolving doors. Who has revolving doors these days anyway? And, how is that maximum security. Someone has a screw loose somewhere in this corporation. And it isn’t me!
Outside the opulent building, a taxi was waiting in the pouring rain. At first I thought that it was good timing. But then the taxi driver welcomed me by name. This wasn’t a co-incidence. I breathed in deeply as my skin prickled.
By the time that I had arrived at my apartment, the storm had moved in, green skies threatening to release its violence of hail, and powerful lightning leaving the evidence of a thunderous crack throughout the atmosphere.
My drenched hand fumbled as I inserted the key into the shaft of the lock. The door to my apartment opened with ease and the old mangy cat flew out of my apartment back to where it belonged.
Good.
I ventured into the kitchen and grabbed a stiff drink, hoping that it would subdue my bubbling erratic emotions. What a day! The dream, the book, the seduction, the unlawful act of stealing my work. The promise that my life would never be the same. Maybe I could do a system restore of my life to an earlier time, and bypass the events of today.
I dragged my feet as I walked over and sat on the sofa. I ran my hand through my hair, put my head back and closed my eyes
and breathed out deeply. Could the day get any worse?
Chapter Four
A sudden blast of cold wind w
oke me from a temporary semi-conscious state. The icy wind streamed across my face as the sound of papers rattling alerted me to their location before taking flight around the room.
To my left the sash window
was completely open, the organza curtains billowing in the strong wind. Rain was thumping against the glass, and entering, uninvited, into the room.
My legs g
ave way on the slippery wet floor as I moved at speed to close the window. But finally, I slammed it shut, and exhaled through my lips. I ran my hand through my hair and turned to discover that the room was a complete mess, papers strewn everywhere.
With resignation,
I lowered myself onto my knees and collected all the papers, haphazardly piling them untidily on the floor, slamming the very last piece down on the top in exasperation, only to find a smaller white piece of paper come shooting out before my eyes, and then gently gliding down onto the floor.
It
was white, blank. Not new though. A little aged in appearance. It looked smooth,
but on close
r inspection with my hands, it felt slightly bumpy. Confused, I ran my finger over the paper again. Mmmm, definitely bumpy.
Oh
…..The piece of paper belongs to the bloody book!
Standing, I drag
ged my feet over to the table where the bloody book sat. It’s leather cover was open, exposing the internal intelligences of the written word. But there was none.
The pages
were unblemished by ink, by words, letters or illustrations. Yet, the book looked used and worn. I slid the escapee page of the book back inside with the other pages, and slammed the cover closed.
The End!
Strange bloody book!
I walk
ed away.
But
only to return. It had it’s little nasty hooks into me. I hate books! I am not a book sort of guy! Frustrated, I returned to it, and removed the extrovert page, the escapee. My curiosity needed quenching.
At once, I ma
de my way to the study room and turned on the desk lamp, placing the paper onto the glossy glass top. Without looking up, I reached for a soft sketching lead pencil, and another piece of paper, and then proceeded to do a texture rubbing over the blank page.
Initially, flowers appear
ed on the rubbing, and vines with leaves. Quite childish really. Perhaps it was a child’s sketchbook? But then some lettering appeared.
A name. Female.
I smirked to myself. Well, it didn’t surprise me really. Boys didn’t tend to go about drawing pretty daisy flowers and scroll vines on paper.
Then to my unguarded attention, an address appeared, complete with email and phone number. So the book is not as old as I had assumed that it was. I smiled to myself, and then frowned. Why no ink?
It is not my book. I don’t do books. End of story. I returned the page to its fellow offenders and closed the damn leather cover.
I covered my face with my hands. I cannot simply burn this book now? It has a person’s name and address in it. It has an owner.
I breathed out loudly through my nostrils. Bloody book!
My laptop computer purred as I engaged it, keying in my security code. I went immediately to emails – new message.
FROM: Cohen Darcy
SUBJECT: Your Book!
DATE
: May 08 2011 16:37
TO: Georgia Harrison
Hello,
I have found your book. How can I return it to you?
Cohen Darcy
Send…..
I watched the computer screen for a few minutes, my hands cupped in each other, twiddling my thumbs. No reply.
Until twenty-five minutes later, the ping of a new message alerted me.
FROM: Georgia Harrison
SUBJECT:
Your Book!
DATE
: May 08 2011 17:02
TO: Cohen Darcy
Hello Cohen,
It is not my book. Is this a pick up line?
Georgia Harrison
Great – girls! Always assuming that a guy is trying to get into their pants!
My fingers twitched with agitation as I replied.
FROM: Cohen Darcy
SUBJECT
: Your Book!
DATE
: May 08 2011 17:05
TO: Georgia Harrison
Georgia,
The book has your name, address, email and phone number contact in it.
IT IS YOUR BOOK! You need to claim it before I use it as fuel for the fire. I hate books!